


Born Troublemaker

by IrenkaFeralKitty



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole, Star Wars Legends: X-wing Series - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Escape artist and troublemaker, Fluff, Gen, Not tied to my other Star Wars fics, Slice of Life, Stand Alone, Toddler Wes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 07:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrenkaFeralKitty/pseuds/IrenkaFeralKitty
Summary: Wes's mischievous streak started at an early age.





	Born Troublemaker

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to [LadyMorgaine76](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMorgaine76) for creating the 50 Shades of Wes Janson collection, [Justice_Turtle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Curuchamion/pseuds/Justice_Turtle) for editing, and the Rogue Squadron discord for inspiring this work!

“Now, now, young sir, it’s quite alright,” the nanny droid said in its most reassuring voice. The two year old yelling and squirming in two of its four hands did not appear to agree. “It is important to share. The other younglings deserve a chance to play with all of the toys.”

“No!”

Another nanny droid rolled up next to the first. “Perhaps little Wes is in need of a snack and a nap,” it suggested.

At the word ‘snack’, Wes’s dark eyes went wide, and for a moment, his enraged howls ceased.

Then, the youngling that had snatched up the long, sparkly wand he adored whapped another in the head with the sphere at the end, the long ribbons trailing from the top snapping in the air. The movement immediately caught his attention, as did the frightened wails of the youngling who’d been struck.

Wes shrieked and started thrashing, drumming small, angry fists on the droid’s round, padded torso. “My toy! He stole it! Gonna break!”

The two nanny droids shared a brief look, data flying quickly between them as they debated how best to proceed. A few moments later, the second droid reached out and took Wes, pinning his flailing limbs with its arms as it rotated around, then started wheeling away from the cluster of younglings. The first droid, meanwhile, set to work trying to console the crying youngling.

“Wes, you are being very naughty,” the nanny droid scolded the small toddler. “The wand does not only belong to you. It is important that you learn to share.”

Sensing the droid was unswayed by his cries, Wes let the noise trickle off. That didn’t stop a few tears from rolling down his face, though, or keep his nose from running. The further the droid rolled away from the other creche younglings, the more devastated he felt over the loss of his favorite toy.

“I believe you are overtired,” the droid stated as they rolled into the next room, which was filled with species appropriate cribs and beds. “So you are going to take a nap. You may have a small snack before I put you in your crib.”

Wes pouted, his lower lip sticking out as he sulked. “Don’t wanna nap. Want my wand.”

“It is not time to play with the wand. If you do not want a snack, then it is time to sleep.”

The droid rolled over to a particular crib near the back wall and carefully lifted Wes over the side and set him down on the mattress. A third hand reached down and pulled a soft blanket over the youngling, then tucked his stuffed bantha toy against his chest. Then, with one sensor trained on the youngling, the droid drew a white mesh tent over the top of the crib and secured it to the rails. Though soft, the sturdy fabric had proven the only way to keep the adventurous youngling in his crib for any length of time.

Still pouting, Wes rolled onto his side and wrapped a chubby hand around the blue plasteel bars, eyes locked on the door that led back to the creche playroom. His free arm clutched his bantha to his chest.

“The other younglings will be joining you for a nap very soon,” the nanny droid told him in a consoling voice. “You will be able to go and play again after your nap. Sweet dreams.” Rolling over to the room controls, the droid lowered the lights somewhat and turned on some soft music. Then, it was gone.

Alone, Wes rolled back onto his back. He didn’t want to nap. He wanted his wand. It was a special, magical wand. He was the only one of the younglings who could make the magic work. And if he didn’t get it back from the others, they might break it!

Almost fifteen minutes later, Wes was still stubbornly refusing to sleep. He’d tried crying and yelling, but the nanny droids wouldn’t take him back to the playroom and give him back his wand. Instead, they’d been coming in and out of the room to put the other younglings down for a nap.

The last youngling to be brought in was Yras, the youngling who’d stolen his wand and was still clutching it in his green hands.

Angry, Wes glared and glared and glared at the other youngling. He wanted his toy back!

Once the the nanny droids left the room, leaving the younglings to sleep, Wes decided it was time to take his wand back. Sitting up, he stuck his arm through the bars of the crib and started pulling on the lip of the mesh tent covering the top of the crib. At first, the tight elastic didn’t yield, but over time, he managed to squeeze his tiny fingers under the stretchy fabric. From there, pushing the mesh off one corner of the crib was easy.

With freedom moments away, Wes tucked Bamma the Bantha under his chin and crawled up the side rail. He teetered for a moment on the top, balancing precariously for several seconds before letting himself topple over the edge.

He landed first on his feet, then fell onto his bottom. Wes made a face. His diaper needed changing. But he didn’t want the nanny droids to do it. They were _mean_. Once he had his wand back, though, he could go find someone else to do it for him.

Climbing back onto his feet, Wes paused to scoop up Bamma, who’d bounced away when he’d fallen, then marched over to the crib that had Yras in it.

The Mirialan hadn’t noticed Wes’s determined escape efforts and was sound asleep, stretched out on his back with the wand lying limply in his open hand.

As Wes approached, he took a moment to stick his tongue out at the other youngling. Then, reaching through the bars, he grabbed his wand.

Once he’d pulled the toy back through the bars, he had to muffle a giggle in Bamma’s soft side. Experimentally, he gave the wand a wave, and was relieved when the round head didn’t wobble and the ribbons simply fluttered back and forth.

Encouraged, he turned and hurried to the door - but not the one that led to the playroom. No, he went to the _other_ door, the one that didn’t have any cribs or beds near it. Mommy didn’t usually bring him to this door when she dropped him off at the creche everyday, but he’d seen other parents use it when their younglings were still sleeping. After watching curiously for a few weeks, he’d gradually figured out that this door led to the hallway outside the creche. And there were always people in hallways. One of them, he knew, would change his diaper for him.

The door controls were far too high for him to reach, even if he jumped. But with his magic wand, he didn’t need to be tall to make the door open.

Standing on tiptoe, Wes stretched his arm up and waved the wand’s round end in front of the sensor embedded in the door control.

Unbeknownst to Wes, something about the splattered paint on the round wand end and the fluttering ribbons perfectly mimicked the movement patterns of the manipulating limbs of one of the many species in the galaxy, specifically, the ones used to trigger door sensors. All Wes knew was that after he waved the wand in front on this control panel (and many others scattered throughout the creche), things happened.

The door opened.

Without hesitation, Wes stepped through the doorway and was gone.

* * *

 Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila was seething inside as she walked the back halls of the Senate building. Mindful of the cameras and surveillance equipment hidden everywhere, she was careful to ensure that her expression remained serene, her posture and stride calm and measured, and that none of the burning rage inside her had any external outlet.

It was hard, though. Hard pretending that the new Imperial Senate was anything more than a puppet show pretending to govern. Hard having to applaud Palpatine, the man who’d crowned himself Emperor only a few years earlier, when he made a rare appearance in the Senate chambers.

At the first opportunity following his speech, she’d made her escape, finding herself incapable of the smalltalk and pandering that followed each so-called Imperial address.

Happily, she did have a perfectly valid excuse, although she wasn’t quite sure how long that would last. Jobin had been perfectly happy and safe in the Senate creche. The nanny droids had not only taken good care of her son, but had also provided sufficient instruction as he grew that her son had transitioned into a full day school without any difficulty.

She wasn’t sure about Lieda, though.

Oh, the droids were the same as ever, and she’d never been anything but annoyed at the snobbery of some of her colleagues who fussed about their younglings being in the same creche as those of the many citizens who worked for the Senate as drivers, aides, maintenance staff, and so much more.

It was Palpatine that had changed, and with him, everything else. She wasn’t completely convinced that the creche was as safe as it had used to be, or that it was free of the dark, malevolent taint that was slowly starting to infect the Senate building itself.

She wasn’t sure at all that the creche was safe for her daughter anymore.

Lost in her own thoughts, the Senator rounded a corner and nearly ran over a human youngling, sitting with his back to the wall and his arms wrapped around his knees. Backpedaling quickly, she couldn’t help but stare, startled. One didn’t encounter younglings in the halls of the Senate, no matter how close to the creche one got. Almost without realizing it, Mon Mothma found herself glancing over her shoulder, half convinced she’d see a holocamera crew behind her waiting to film some new prank.

There was no one.

Turning back, she realized the youngling was staring straight at her. His morose expression brightened and he pushed himself to his feet, pausing to bend over to retrieve a stuffed animal and a sparkly wand lying on the floor.

Once these items were in hand, he exploded into motion, racing towards her as fast as he could on his tiny legs. Just as he was drawing close, she realized she recognized him, had seen him in the creche while dropping Lieda off in the morning. He’d usually been climbing on something, jumping on someone, or screaming for the sheer joy of making noise. For someone so small, he had an astonishing amount of wildness to him and she’d found herself feeling relieved more than once that Jobin had never been quite so exuberant.

Then, the youngling was next to her and latching onto her leg, grinning up at her with a happy, round face. Clutching her long white robe, he tugged firmly on the fabric to make sure he had her attention.

“New diaper, please.”

* * *

 The creche sleeping area was in an uproar when Mon Mothma entered, the youngling boy resting comfortably in her arms. His name was Wes, she’d been informed. She’d also learned that his favorite color was yellow, his wand was magic, his bantha’s name was Bamma, and the nanny droids were mean.

One of said “mean” droids rolled up to her moments later.

“Senator, thank the maker you found him! I do apologize. We simply don’t know how he got out. This has never happened before.” The droid turned its sensors to Wes. “This was very, very naughty, Wes,” the droid exclaimed. “You frightened us very badly. Now come here. We mustn’t inconvenience the Senator.”

When the droid extended its soft arms, Wes merely scowled and aimed a kick at the closest one. “No!”

“I was on my way to the creche already when I came across him in the hallways,” Mon Mothma interrupted. Glancing down in amusement at the small youngling who’d wrapped his hands firmly into her robe, she continued. “He did mention he needed a new diaper. Perhaps I could change that and get him settled down while you take care of the rest of the creche? He does seem rather… stubborn.”

“Oh my goodness, Senator, that’s- that’s-”

“It does seem to be the easiest solution,” she interrupted.

“Perhaps, but he is our charge. Wes, come here at once,” the droid insisted, reaching out again.

Wes scowled and clutched tighter to her robes. “No! Want Moth! Not _you_.”

Mon Mothma bit back a laugh. Shifting Wes slightly to better rest on her hip, she patted one of the droid’s arms consolingly. “I insist.”

Without waiting for a reply, she made her way towards the changing station near the cribs where a few very small younglings were somehow still sleeping away. Lieda, she saw, was one of them.

Plonking Wes down onto the changing station, she paused for a moment and gave him a stern look. “You are a born troublemaker.” He just laughed. Shaking her head, she reached for the fastenings of his clothes. “Let’s get this done, then.”

* * *

_Many years later_

Rieeken was still sputtering as Leia dragged him out of the Council chambers. Even the endless, almost painful chill that permeated Echo Base couldn’t seem to quell his rage.

Lieutenant Wes Janson, quivering with barely suppressed amusement, met her stern look with an expression of wide-eyed innocence. Mon Mothma didn’t know how he’d been able to finagle his way into the chambers in place of Commander Skywalker with the report on the state of the starfighter corps, but here he was, beaming and unperturbed that his usual status of “being impertinent” had nearly driven the man in charge of Echo Base to physical violence.

If she’d realized Janson was stationed on Hoth, she might have sent a representative from High Command instead of visiting herself. Something about her presence did seem to inspire Janson to some fairly flamboyant behaviors.

Mon Mothma let silence fill the chamber for a full minute before speaking. “Lieutenant Janson.”

“Ma’am.”

“I believe I’ve told you before that you are a troublemaker.”

“Yes, ma’am, for as long as I can remember,” he agreed.

She arched a brow. “You seem to think that a badge of honor. It is not. It is, instead, my way of urging you to reconsider your actions. To improve yourself. To stop making the people around you want to throttle you.”

Janson spread his hands, still grinning. “I can’t help but be me, ma’am.”

That earned him a very stern look, but she’d known very well that he wouldn’t change. It wasn’t in his nature. Two weeks after his first escape from the Senate creche all those years ago, he’d repeated his daring feat and somehow managed to find his way to her office. It had been startling, to say the least, to sit down at her desk and find a toddler playing happily in the footwell.

Wes had latched onto Mon Mothma in a way that horrified basically everyone. His mother, a procurement worker for the Senate cantina, couldn’t get him to stop demanding to go see “Moth”. The nanny droids proved incapable to prevent his constant escapes from the creche. Her aides were convinced the story would leak to the media at the worst possible time.

The only person, in fact, who didn’t think this small youngling’s attachment was the end of the galaxy was Bail Organa and he happily played with the youngling anytime they were in her office at the same time. (“He’s the same age as Leia,” he’d said once in a wistful voice.)

In the end, Wes’s mother had returned to Taanab, taking Wes with her. And just like that, Mon Mothma went from seeing the biggest troublemaker the Senate creche had seen in centuries on a daily basis to only getting the occasional holo or letter. And as the Rebellion grew and open war drew closer, even those messages eventually petered off.

It was probably inevitable, though, that he’d ended up joining the Rebellion. He’d never tried to leverage their previous connection for personal gain, and never even really alluded to it. He simply used the few times they were in the same room to be thoroughly impertinent, and grinned the whole time because he knew she’d let him get away with it.

With this history in mind, Mon Mothma knew there wasn’t anything she could say that would make him truly apologetic.

“Is there a reason you haven’t left yet, Lieutenant?”

“Haven’t been dismissed, ma’am!”

She leveled another look at the young officer. “Consider yourself dismissed, then, Lieutenant. Oh, and I would suggest that you volunteer for patrol duty or something similarly unpleasant for a while. Lest the good General find something truly miserable for you to spend your free time on.”

Wes suppressed a laugh and saluted. “I’ll take that under advisement, High Commander.”

“See that you do.” As Wes turned to leave, a small smirk of her own spread over Mon Mothma’s face. “And one more thing, Lieutenant.” He turned back to face her. “Keep in mind that tensions are quite high throughout the Rebellion. Any further outbursts of a… particularly colorful nature could have unexpected repercussions. Such as security footage of a mischievous toddler being overly familiar with sitting Senators making its way into the hands of squadrons not known for being restrained in their pursuit of entertainment.”

His eyes went wide. Mon Mothma could see his mind turning her words over and sussing out the implications in that veiled threat.

“I will keep that in mind, ma’am,” he stated in a meek voice. Offering her one more salute, he headed towards the door. Hand hovering over the door controls, he tossed one last comment over his shoulder. “Stay warm, Moth!” and bolted out the door.


End file.
